Today's poem is by James Hoch


I hang it here, in the entry,
so it will be known simply

unmistakenly as fact, the way
when you were born

you were merely a body
umbilic, barely breathing.

I could hold you against
my chest and sleep, not hear

the sky falling metallic
nor dead friends all night

pacing quietly in my room.
Son, when you cut it down,

you'll have to lift it kindly
so as not to compromise

the evidence. And if they ask
about the pills or empties,

say I tried to make my body
pure again— a fireman swaying

from a cord smartly tied
back on itself, nothing more.

Copyright © 2013 James Hoch All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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